


Flower Dye

by orphan_account



Series: ConAllen [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Drabble, M/M, Short One Shot, and ConAllen??? amazing, god i love Captain Allen so much, i'd make my English teacher proud with all the writing devices i used, warm up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-24 00:11:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14943960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Allen wonders if it should be made illegal to use lovely hibiscus, roses, and marigolds as dye.





	Flower Dye

Captain Allen, it was such a strong title looming over that man’s head. Like a noose made of tightly woven fairy floss strings. Or maybe a flower crown of hydrangea, dashed by buttercups; palely kissed hues of pink and drained blue, brought to life by a gold so powerful it almost seemed delicate in isolation without others.

But hydrangea roots were poisonous and so were buttercups, and nooses were only made to be worn with feet hanging.

Captain Allen, he would either flower into a meadow of endless sunshine blotches, or wither away with the fiber of a rope being the only jewelry he buys. So he worked hard, strived and suffered through strenuous obstacles to become the person he needed to be.

And though he is calloused, skin turned leather-thick and tongue coated with a faint sweetness of energy drink, he is also raw. And though he is a wall, monolith of obsidian and monotone with professionalism, he is vibrant. Raw and vibrant contrasting calloused and single-shaded. Soft like silk, hard as the spider which spins it; Allen wonders if it should be made illegal to use lovely hibiscus, roses, and marigolds as dye.

Back in the far past, he finds recollections overcoated by a vintage frame. Allen recalls many things and then he recalls nothing at all. A flicker of a lightbulb shut out by the future. He remembers his mother, her hands are tender sugar, protected behind the cover of thick garden gloves; he sees her uprooting his favorite flowers, the ones that he helped grow. They were to be used as natural dye, but he thinks —

_“ I don’t want people to use flowers as dye. “_

Flowers were useful, yes, but Allen preferred the flower crowns, flower bracelets, the arrangements, bouquets and single-plucked red roses instead of the grinding and boiling. His fingers interlocked while his eyes lost their luster the more those shades of ruby, gold, and oceanic blue disappeared from their home in his garden's heart. There was an emptiness, an outlandish incident that stood out from where there was none.

His mother smiles at him benevolently, hair of midnight sweeping aside his downtrodden expression like a dark breeze.

It still stands that he wishes people didn’t use flowers as dye, they appeared beautiful in concept but the process was murder. The process _is_ murder. The murderous process was beautiful in concept but murder is murder, and it can rarely ever be justified. Allen kisses his hand for every sapphire blue blood stain, and kisses it again for every scarlet stroked blood drop on its surface. Yet, this wasn’t his hand, this was _his_ hand — Connor’s hand.

“ Darling, _darling_ …, stay with me now. I, I — Please, don’t. “ The thirium ran quickly out of plastic veins, the light disappeared swiftly from artificial eyes. That didn’t take away the tears streaming down Connor’s pain-stricken face, nor did it take away the shakiness from Allen’s hands. “ Connor, darling, sweetheart, love. Don’t go just yet, not yet, please not yet. “

Was it the faraway sirens that upset him? Or was it the fact that the mission was over, that everything would be fine, except for the fact that Connor was dying in front of him and though a replacement would be sent tomorrow to the DPD, Allen was still upset? Connor’s voice-box faded in and out of static, nothing emerging correctly, nothing aside from hopeful murmurs and blessings. Allen’s heart broke for every attempt Connor made to reassure him. Damn that stupid boy, _damn that stupid boy_.

They held their hands in the fading moonlight, casted their love deep into their hearts as Connor tried to gather his memories in a bunch. And the thirium kept flowing while the blood kept pumping.

Allen was a fair man — he didn’t particularly like androids so he didn’t exactly like humans either; as a child, that thought process stuck with him. He could hang around android and humans, and he would sneer at both of them while they assumed he liked them over the other. Sentience was stupid like that, everybody wants to be special and everybody is willing to delude themselves to the point of believing they are. Allen was no different.

Somewhere in his flawed mind, he hoped that his status and the importance he put into Connor’s existence would help, but CyberLife had no need for an RK800 model and neither did anyone else, _except_ for Allen — Connor would not be fixed or repaired. Like a flower, Connor’s roots and petals would be torn apart to be used to make something ‘ better ‘, but Allen never wanted better, he just wanted face value; he just wanted Connor.

**Author's Note:**

> I have so many headcanons about Allen's past. Oh and! Talk to me on tumblr @RK-900.


End file.
